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Topic: Introduction (Read 8656 times)

Hi all,I recognize a few faces here from Dr. McBride's board. I was posting as worm there but someone mistakenly called me worn in one post and I must say I prefer it. Has more of a comfy, lived in feeling than a negative one.My sister introduced me to the idea that our mom has npd about 6 years ago. I didn't think much about it. Started back in therapy in Feb. and started doing research on why it all seemed to come down to her. She fits the npd category pretty darn well. I'm 31, finishing up my social work degree. I'm gay. I enjoy reading, motorcycles, spending time w/ some of my family and friends, and play WoW on a pretty regular basis, lol.I've worked w/ people w/ developmental disabilities for the past 11 years. It has been a tremendous learning experience. Mostly just learning about how to live life since nm never took the time to teach me. It has also been one of the greatest joys of my life.Thanks, Sharon

I've been trying to dig up parts of my childhood that I can remember. Somethings I just don't have a memory for. Pictures I don't remember ever being there. It seems to help me remember more if I record what I do remember. If that makes sense.

I remember almost nothing of my mother but an alternately ignoring then intrusive figure. I was wary of her at all times. When I was ignored I felt safer but I was afraid she would forget I existed. I would wait breathless for the sound of our busted muffler as she was always late to pick me up from school. Then when I heard it I would feel anxiety rise in my throat as I wondered what kind of mood she'd be in. Sometimes she'd be in a good mood, wanting to go do something. Mostly, she just seemed tired and put-out at having to pick me up. Sometimes she was in a semi-rage, a slow boil. I would hold myself in as tightly as I could so I wouldn't make it boil over.

I remember times when I was sick and she would still drag me around town if she felt like it. Usually to buy something for the house or herself. I've laid in the back seat of our station wagon many times sick with a headache, fever or nausea just waiting for her to come back so we can go home. I didn't like her around me when I was sick. I just had this feeling of 'please go away so I can rest.' She never stayed long, luckily. She resented me being sick. That she had to care for a sick child. I was 8 and had a terribly cramping and painful stomach and came home from school about 10 am. I felt better about 2 and went outside to play. She was furious. At age 12 I had a 103 temp and missed my band performance. I had a solo. She was mortified I was not able to perform. She gave me the silent treatment for days.

I remember I learned to do self-care things for myself at a pretty early age. When she brushed my hair she pulled it roughly, making no effort to smooth the process. When she cut my fingernails she would twist my fingers around painfully so she could 'get at them' better. She would rub the freshly cut nail back and forth roughly. This was almost unbearable for me and I protested. She said she had to make sure they were smooth. She always cut them way too short because she did not want to do them again any time soon. They would often bleed she cut them so short. When she curled my hair for church she would inevitably burn me with the curling iron and then tell me to stop squirming. (I hated curls, she insisted until I was about 16.)

She seemed to delight in hurting me in all sorts of little ways. If I was laying down her way of getting my attention was to grab my toes and twist and pull them. If she ever tickled it wasn't gentle. It hurt badly. If we were alone I might get a slap across the face or a pinch. She took after me with a hot clothes iron one time for bugging her while she ironed. I fled. A smack with the hairbrush or cooking utensil awaited if I got in her way while she was busy. She would force me to look into her eyes while she spit venom at me by gripping and twisting my jaw till it ached. She didn't leave marks though. She was a perfect mother and perfect mothers don't leave marks.

I was pulled and pushed from her. Obsessed and repulsed at the same time.

My mother willingly put me in harm's way. She sent me many times to stay with an aunt whose son had raped my sister a few years before. I remember being babysat by him. I remember riding places with him and waiting in the car while he went in to visit people. I was about 5. At age 11 she volunteered me to walk a first grader from my school to her babysitter's after school. The girls mother was afraid her dad would come kidnap her. She and I walked the 5 blocks to the babysitter's all year. What was I supposed to do if he did kidnap her? Or me?

I broke my arm roller-skating when I was ten. I remember my friend was over and I'd just gotten up from falling when my mom came out with the phone saying I had a call. I took the call, in pain the whole time, then hung up and told my mom I thought I hurt my arm. Because my friend was there she was extra caring. I felt stuck in the spotlight. She never bothered over me like that when we were alone. I remember I just didn't want to be a bother but my arm really hurt. We went to my dad's office and got it x-rayed and then he put a removable cast on it. He told me that if I'd been a 'real' patient he'd have put a plaster cast on it. I automatically took this to mean if I was one of his real patients he would have treated me better. He probably meant the removable cast was more convenient, it was. But i took it to mean I was less than. It made the most sense in the pattern of my life and I took it in stride to mean that. We were running low on pain medicine for my arm and I was in pain but I said no when asked if I wanted more. I didn't want to run out then have my parents have to go get more for me if I got in worse pain. I felt like an unwelcome house guest in my own home.

I wasn't wanted from birth. My mom had an 8 and 10 yr old already when I was born and she thought she was through with raising children. I suspect that the cousin that lived with us at the time I was born did most of my care as an infant. I quickly became a self-sufficient child. I was never a bother. I would entertain myself for hours at a very young age. At about age 4 or 5 I began spending most of my time outside in the woods and yard around our house. I would be out there for hours. I have so many more memories of roaming those woods and the imaginative games I played out there with the family dogs tramping behind me than I ever do of my mom.

When I was 18 and had just started therapy because of depression, I came on a note my mom had written on why I might be so 'messed up'. She mentions in it that there were bonding problems between me and her and my dad when I was an infant because 'they didn't want any more children'. For her to even admit that means there were probably MAJOR problems with bonding.

When I was about 10 I had bought a bag of dorito's when we went to the store with my own money. Mother didn't buy junk food but let me buy my own this time. I came down from my room after getting home and found her finishing off the bag. I asked why she ate my dorito's. She turned and flashed her eyes at me and said 'I didn't want you! I never did.'I was stunned. And really unsure what this had to do with her eating my dorito's. That hurts so bad and is so outrageous at the same time. The only way I can even begin to understand that is to put her in the frame of a sick individual. That there is something very wrong with her.

I remember when I was 15 my best friend died from injuries in a car accident. She was knocked unconscious and died three days later. I was sitting in the living room when I heard my mom get the call that she was dead. She came out to me and said in a false hurt tone of voice, saying we had lost my friend. She couldn't stand my friend. We were always too much of a messy loud romping good time when my friend came over. My mom complained about how we had toys everywhere in a letter to my sister. we were about 9 and 11 at the time. My mom said are you ok and I just hung my head and nodded yes. She said ok, I have to go do some shopping and left. I remember sitting on the floor holding onto my knees and rocking as I wailed out my sorrow. i was glad my mom was not there to see me. I had cut myself before when feeling emotions that were just too much to handle. I cut myself then on my upper arm. My brother called and I answered the phone. i talked to him like nothing was the matter as I held a cloth to my arm flowing blood. When he hung up I put a bandage on my arm and went and lay down in my room.

There was a big family reunion planned the same day as my friend's funeral. My mom said I had the choice to either go to the funeral or the reunion. I didn't feel like I had a choice in reality. That I would 'pay' if I chose going to the funeral so I went to the reunion. I was feeling very sad and empty while there. One of my cousins noticed it and asked me if I was ok. I began to cry and tell him about my friend. My mom came over and acted concerned and said I would be ok. My cousin walked off and she gripped my arm tight enough to hurt and hissed in my ear that if I couldn't get control of myself i should go sit in the car. i went to the car and sat and cried. I guess I sat and cried too long for my mom's taste because she sent my brother out to get me and tell me I had to come back and be sociable.

One of the main things that confused me so badly in my family was the contradictions. My parents are very religious and live for the church they attend. I remember getting oatmeal and a grapefruit for breakfast every morning. The church had strict diet guidelines. We were mostly vegetarian and followed some of the Jewish diet laws. I also got a hug every morning from my mom and my dad if he hadn't left for work yet. He worked long hours when I was young. The hugs never felt genuine. They were what we did. We also said 'I love you' every day to each other. I remember I must have been about 6 when I began a repetitious thing where I would say to my mom, 'you don't love me'. She would deny it, laughing at me while she did housework or something else until I had repeated it too many times then she would get angry and tell me not to say that ever again. I knew she didn't love me and I couldn't stop myself from saying it though.

We would have a morning bible reading at breakfast when my brother and sister lived at home. My parents stopped that after they left. My mom also stopped cooking for us. My dad would get dinner and lunch at work often and I might get a sandwich. She didn't starve me, she just stopped trying. I was never taught how to cook by her and never allowed to make food for myself. I just had to wait till she felt like making something. Food was one area of control she used. My sister talks about how she would fix us bean sandwiches because she said we didn't have any money and then go buy herself a new purse. She would change our diets at the whim of whoever was giving a health talk at the church. I was scared I was never going to see cheese again many times. It always seemed to find its way back into the refrigerator tho.

So on the outside we were this perfect christian family that followed all the many rules of our church. On the inside we were a rotten mess.

Remembering and feeling are two different things for me. For the longest time I could remember remembering my childhood and that was it. I would remember that at 16 I remembered some incident from my childhood. I couldn't recall that memory up for myself at the time, just the facts of what I remembered at 16. That's a lot of remembering in that paragraph lol.

I've been trying to feel the emotions I felt as I went through those incidents from my childhood. I think of it as true remembering. If I read back through what I have written sometimes it seems like I'm reading something that happened to someone else. It is usually only then that I can feel bad about what happened to this person. Otherwise it feels like I'm watching a movie with no emotional ties to the main character. I could care less what happened to her. When I can truly remember being there and the feelings I felt at the time it is somewhat overwhelming. The anxiety rises up in me and fear also. I'm trying to tie the true remembering to the feeling of empathy I have at times for this person who was treated so badly. It's so strange for me that I have to connect empathy for myself in this way. But it's the only way I can do it right now.

I drove by the house I lived in for most of my childhood a few weeks ago. It has a long driveway. There was a new gate about halfway up the driveway. I wanted to drive up and look at the house but couldn't. I told my T about this and she asked me what I thought when I saw the gate. I said I could never go back. She asked if I ever thought it needed to be boarded up. That it was too toxic. I think she is right. That place is haunted.

I remember the land around our house so well. I remember it's every twist and turn. I lived out there mostly. We had 10 acres with 7 of woods and that was just my home base. I wandered far and wide on neighboring farms and forests. I had my dogs to keep me company and it was home for me. The house was not home. The house was shelter and food, but it wasn't home.

There are ghosts around that house. There's a haunted 8 year old soul who rolls naked in the snow because she wants to catch pneumonia and die. There's the 9 year old hitting her hand with a hammer over and over because it makes her stop hurting. There's the 14 year old, punching trees she's so angry. There's the 16 year old who just doesn't want to be alive anymore but is too depressed to do anything about it. They're all my ghosts. My heart aches with each one of them. Worn

My dad was hospitalized briefly a few years ago. It was potentially life threatening but they caught it in time. My sister and I rushed to the ER when we heard about it. Seeing my dad laying there with tubes coming out of himwas scary. he smiled and talked with us, but you could tell he felt very ill. i'd never seen my dad sick like that.

Nm was sitting in the corner behind the door the whole time we were in the ER. She seemed sullen and withdrawn. Sheexcused herself at one point then came back in to sit in the corner. I remember thinking she didn't belong there.

They admitted my dad overnight. We all went to his room. Nm fussed with the blinds for a little while complaining about it. It was night so it didn't matter. She then sat for a little while then within 30 minutes of coming to theroom announced she was going home. She left, seemingly unconcerned about my dad and a little putout about the wholeexperience.

My sister stayed on the couch in his room that night. I moved his truck to my sister's because he was worried about it.

My first T wanted to have a family session. I reluctantly agreed. We had to travel a bit to get there. Nm and Ef actedlike nothing was wrong. Domineering and ignoring as usual. Occupying their status of perfect, while I was left to my roleof $*#!-up. I was 18.

Nm was wearing an all red cotton dress. Kind of-power schoolmarm. This dress has haunted me in dreams. She wears this inmy dreams and I try to beat her with my fists but I can't ever hurt her and all she does is laugh at me.

We got to the T session and went in. They introduced themselves and as soon as we start talking Nm starts wailing overand over, 'I'm a bad mother!'. Literally wailing. If there was sackcloth I'm sure it would have been rent. And there wasplenty of gnashing teeth. I think my T got her to stop long enough for Ef to talk a little.

Ef was as calm as a cucumber. He said repeatedly that he didn't think there were any problems in the family. He saidhe never noticed any problems. He denied anything was wrong.

My T finally got to me and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say. I don't think I said anything.

After we left it was back to status quo. They both acted like nothing was wrong again and went back to bossing me around.I had so much rage in me. Unfortunately, I turned it on myself.

Family and I are watching the news and a piece about child abuse comes up. Nm says, 'I don't see why they have to make such a big deal about it.' I say, 'Because it's an epidemic and it neads to stop!' Nm airily says, 'Oh, parents hardlyever kill their children anymore.' I go off on her. I tell her they are not talking about killing but about physical, verbal, emotional, and sexual abuse. I start naming specific acts that she did. Her eyes get wider and wider. WhenI'm done she humphs and walks out of the room. My sister and I high-five and talk about the look on Nm's face. We're lovin' it.